


While the Rain Falls

by pagerunner



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:29:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/400421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pagerunner/pseuds/pagerunner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A continuing series of snapshots of Irikah and Thane's lives together. These ficlets are part of a common continuity, but they're not in chronological sequence - so consider them as flashbacks, recalled as the memory strikes. These will be posted in the order they were written, with any necessary notes to explain context along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Glimpses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three snippets of headcanon that started all this, about singing, sisters and learning to dance...

It takes Irikah a long time to lower her guard around him.

She knows better than most what Thane's capable of. The twists of his moral reasoning to justify it, she finds nearly impossible to accept sometimes. Yet there's _something_ in him, something deeper, and his interest is clear - and compelling. So she starts challenging him in return. Asking him to prove himself as a person, not just someone else's weapon. Asking him to meet her in her world, not just expect her to understand his.

Somehow, that's led her into a dare she hadn't actually thought he'd accept.

He's in her home tonight, surrounded by her family; he's being quiet and respectful and is seemingly trying to blend away into the sandy landscapes painted across every wall, but he's _here,_ sharing their dinner, engaging in careful conversation afterward. Her nerves tingle from the strangeness of it.

And her family's trying to talk her into singing.

She never does, except here. She'd surely be the jewel of her troupe if she could sing as well as she danced, but her voice isn't suited to hanar music. They like things clear, high and fluting; to her regret, her voice isn't any of these things. Drell music, which she _is_ perfectly suited for, is… different. It's low and rich, making full use of overtones, strangely atonal by some measures. She does enjoy it, privately; she just has no idea what Thane will think. _Hopelessly traditionalist,_ probably. _Unfashionable._ Most people do.

But at last she gives in to her family's urgings, and thinks that if she's going to do this, she might as well give it her all. And she does.

The thing that nearly breaks her mid-note is Thane's reaction.

Gods, the way he _stares…_ all night he's been cooly reserved, but now he's purely and honestly surprised, and he looks captivated. Almost awed. She's never seen him that unguarded. And when he speaks to her after, he seems dismayed at her excuses for not singing like that before. "You shouldn't ever be ashamed of such a thing," he tells her. "Not something that beautiful. Not for anything you are."

She does go breathless then, and her resolve toward caution finally falters.

 _Oh, Iri, you're in trouble_ , she thinks. Yet when he whispers his own challenge to her, a soft and tempting suggestion, she only hesitates a moment before saying yes.

...

Ryel doesn't trust a thing about him.

One night, after watching this man of Irikah's over dinner and gnawing at her own suspicions far more than the food, she retreats to the station. It's dark and empty but for the glow of her terminal, and she doesn't do anything to counter that. She just sits there, digging through files, for hours.

She's chasing after nothing but ghosts and suspicions, but something's worrying her that she just can't shake.

Something about Thane unnerves her. He's too poised, too precise, too… trained, for something that she doesn't like. She's seen men who moved like him before, and they were rarely up to anything harmless with it. She hasn't overtly recognized him, though, so she has nothing specific to chase. The best she can do is to scan through criminal records and profiles, hoping for a match one moment, hoping she's wrong the next.

She starts muttering about how much easier this would be if she could just upload her memories direct and have the computer cross-reference everything for her, and then when she realizes she's talking to herself, shuts herself up with another enormous mug of coffee and keeps working.

It's at an appalling hour of the morning that she begins to suspect she's in the wrong files.

They keep a separate directory marked _Agents under Primacy protection:_ a catalog of those employed by the hanar at high enough levels that they enjoy a certain…diplomatic immunity, outside the reach of civilian law enforcement. Everything about that boundary chafes her, but she has no choice but to honor the agreements. Ryel scans through photos with her heart in her throat, and all too soon she finds what she supposes must have been inevitable. A familiar face. A complete name, this time. Irikah hadn't told them. _Thane Krios,_ it's marked. _Terminal negotiations._

Ryel reads those two words four times, then swears, succinctly and vehemently. It's every bit as bad as she feared. Those listed in this file, she can't touch no matter how dangerous they are.

And her beloved little sister, she of the whipcrack wit who should know better, is in love with an assassin.

"Shit," Ryel says again, seeing nothing good coming of this, and puts her head in her hands.

...

She moves like water, like the hanar taught her, when she dances for them. He's gone before to watch in secret, crouched in the rafters or hiding in the shadows, and he found much to admire then - but something about it never felt quite right, not quite like _her_.

Now that she's agreed to those hints he's been dropping and is dancing just for him for the first time, he's beginning to understand why.

Irikah's learned her own dances, too, just like she did her own songs, and these are truly something different. In the last rays of sunset that crept in through the clouds, she nearly glows; color shimmers off her scales, green coruscating into gold. He can't stop watching the graceful lines of her arms, the flare of her hips.

He's also seeing something that's strangely familiar.

 _These forms were meant for combat, once,_ she'd said. She's clearly right. Slowed down and softened, these steps hide their potential beneath the grace of the dancer and the melody she moves to. But he can nearly _feel_ what would happen if she unleashed herself. There's fire in her, and his blood sings with the desire to join her, match and counter every step until they're too tangled to distinguish one body from the other, moving as one.

She must have recognized that in him by now. They've danced around each other like this for weeks: almost touching, almost slipping past their arguments and indignations into understanding, and almost - _almost_ \- moving past this game of goading each other, poking at one another's barriers. Now it's a different sort of challenge, for she's tempting him purposefully now. He thinks it's finally time to answer. Slowly, Thane gets to his feet and steps closer.

"Irikah," he says. She doesn't stop moving, doesn't respond; instead she makes a sudden, neat pivot. To his surprise, her hand flashes out - and her fingertips stop _just_ shy of his throat.

She stops right there, smiling at him.

It takes a second to react. Even his training master might have been impressed at that move. Thane's hopelessly beyond that point, and knows it. Poised there on the edge, he takes a deep breath, reaches his own hand up to clasp hers and corrects himself.

"Siha," he murmurs this time.

Her lips part softly in surprise, but she tries to keep her balance. "Don't just flatter me again," she says, in a voice that trembles only a little. "Prove it."

He smiles back, and gladly meets her challenge -- and presses her hand to his heart as he bends to meet her in a soft, all-consuming kiss.


	2. Meeting Zizi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Thane's first visit to Irikah's family.

Somehow, the most unsettling greeting Thane received at Irikah’s home was the dark-eyed, suspicious stare from the Ivirras family cat.  
  
It was an irqacat, if he weren’t mistaken - a rare breed these days, once ubiquitous on Rakhana and domesticated centuries ago, but rare now on Kahje, since the original refugees were rarely able to take along such things as pets.  The specimen here, however, was a fine example of its breed.  The cat was long, lean and elegant, tinted like amber except for cream-colored paws.  Lightly tufted ears twitched with some suspicion at Thane’s approach.  He considered offering one hand for the cat to sniff.  Years of well-trained restraint kept him back until he could better assess the situation.  
  
“That,” said Irikah behind him — he slowly turned his head, hands still folded behind his back — “is Zizi.  Ostensibly mine, although she only truly loves my grandfather. The rest of us, she tolerates.” Irikah shrugged and smiled.  “She was a gift when I was very young.”   
  
“Ah.  I’d heard they were long-lived.”  
  
She gave him an arch look.  “Are you suggesting I’m old?”  
  
Thane rubbed the bridge of his nose, shadowing his own embarrassed smile.  Irikah did have a way of catching him like this.  “Not at all.  Apologies….”  
  
“I’m two years and fourteen days younger than you, in fact, according to your files.”  
  
Thane blinked.  Zizi yawned, as if to say his surprise was utterly unworthy of her notice.  Irikah, for her part, gave him a dry little smile.  “Ryel looked you up, once she realized we were… acquainted.  Vital stats.  Legal profile. I read those weeks ago.”  
  
“And she allowed you to read confidential police documentation?”  
  
“Hm.  Well.  ‘Allowed’ might not be the word.”  
  
Thane gave her another, closer look. Standing there in this warm-colored room, dressed in white and fairly glowing in the light of the tinted lamps, she looked strikingly angelic — except for the mischief glinting in her eyes.  When she lifted one arm to reveal the bangles there, he realized one of them was a skillfully concealed databand — the lower-capability but still useful consumer equivalent of an omnitool.  A tiny display light blinked.  
  
“I may have picked up a few tricks from her,” Irikah said.  
  
He was still gazing at her, oddly compelled by that look in her eyes, when Zizi chose to vacate her perch. She leaped off the back of the high, carved chair, rebounded off the cushion and lighted upon the woven rug near Irikah’s feet. Despite all disclaimers about the cat’s affections, she twined between Irikah’s legs once, purring softly.  
  
A memory flashed across Thane’s mind.  
  
“‘Irqa’ comes from the same root as your name,” he said.  “An old word, from a very old story.  I was told it meant ‘grace.’”  He paused.  “It suits you both.”  
  
Irikah lowered her gaze.  Her mouth was still curved slightly. “And here I named her after a warrior.”  
  
“It’s still a useful quality in warriors.”  
  
“I suppose you would know.”  
  
Their eyes met again, and something about that moment made Thane’s blood quicken, his whole body warm.  He was only disrupted from the sensation by Zizi herself, who’d extricated herself and was now sitting in front of him. She made a small, skeptical-sounding meow.  
  
Under the cat’s regard, Thane said dryly, “Here I’d thought your sister was suspicious of me.  I’m beginning to think it’ll be hardest to pass muster with Zi…”  
  
He broke off suddenly, because another thought had just struck him.  
  
If the Irikah of long ago had named her cat for a warrior, it was almost certainly one from a story, too, one that a child would know.  And if so, it was one he also knew.  Zizi.  Short for Rizu, the famous warrior adventuress — whose name his rebellious fellow assassin had also adopted as her own.  “You must be joking,” he said faintly.  
  
Irikah peered curiously at him.  He had no chance to explain. From elsewhere in the house, he heard the call to join the family for the meal, and Irikah startled up, poised to move.  “We should go,” she said softly.  
  
Thane watched the cat.  Zizi’s big dark eyes blinked, and he remembered, inevitably, his own Rizu’s warning: _You are way the hell over your head, Thane.  If you get too close to this woman, you are going to get her killed — and you say I’m the reckless one?_  
  
 _Everyone says you’re the reckless one._  
  
 _But I am not alone,_ she’d said, poking one sharp finger into his chest. _You’re the one who’s going to be._  
  
Thane, chilled, turned away.  
  
“I’ll come with you,” he said, and left the room.    
  
That implacable black stare followed him until he turned and firmly shut the door.


	3. Inconvenient Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peek into Irikah's family, not long after she first meets Thane.

Ryel Ivirras, being an officer of the law by trade and a nosy older sister by right of birth, could be annoyingly observant on mornings like this.  
  
Irikah knew right away she should have taken more time.  After dreams like that — that intense, and that specific, and that gloriously, embarrassingly sensual — a few hasty minutes of water splashed to the face and admonitions of self-control weren’t enough to mask all the signs.  Ryel was already in the kitchen when Irikah got downstairs, and she stared over her mug of coffee in a skeptical way that clearly meant she’d noticed something.  Irikah considered playing innocent for a useless handful of seconds. They ended with an exasperated sigh.  
  
 _“What?”_ she said to Ryel by way of greeting.  
  
Ryel was already in uniform, which didn’t help.  Irikah half expected to be interrogated in full and possibly read her citizen’s rights at any moment.  “You look like you’ve already had an interesting morning,” was all, however, that Ryel actually said.  
  
Irikah turned aside.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
“Oh.  Right.”  Ryel gestured with the mug.  “Because that flush of yours isn’t exactly how I looked the instant my husband last got back here on leave.”  
  
Irikah made a face, one hand flying to her neck.  “I’m not presenting, am I?”  
  
Ryel’s voice was as dry as sandpaper.  “Just a bit.”  
  
Irikah swore under her breath. Her sister almost laughed, even while Irikah opened the kitchen’s cooling unit — ostensibly to look for food, but mostly just to smack herself in the face with the cold air. It didn’t stop Ryel from continuing her investigation.  
  
“What were you doing that got you that worked up?  I didn’t hear anything from your room, so it must have been—”  
  
Irikah shut the door, feeling rather horrified at whatever her sister might have been listening for.  “Just dreams.”  
  
“About whom?”  
  
Irikah’s lips twisted.  Precisely the last thing she should be admitting to her sister was anything about this man.  Ryel had seen just enough of Thane to be deeply suspicious, and Irikah, still in that position herself, was in no real condition to dissuade her.  
  
 _And yet,_ she thought, remembering the intensity of his eyes, the closeness of his body, in that dream.  _And yet._  
  
She took a deep breath, fixed her sister with a firm stare and decided to lie.  
  
“It was Kiv, all right?” she said.  Ryel’s eyes widened.  Irikah took the opportunity to steal the mug from her sister’s hand, take a gulp, and grimace at the taste.  “Over-roasted again.”  
  
Ryel took the coffee back.  “That’s how I like it.”  
  
“You’re insane.”  
  
“So are you.  What were you doing thinking about her again?”  
  
“Remembering the better moments.”  Irikah pointed at her still-flushed skin.  “Obviously.”  
  
“I did not need that mental image.”  
  
Irikah folded her arms.  “You really never did like her, did you?”  
  
“No. She’s a pretentious twit.  All…”  She searched for a word, didn’t find it, and let one hand flutter in circles to encompass the situation.  “About everything.”  
  
“Not _everything….”_  
  
“Most things.”  
  
There was, Irikah thought, some truth to that.  “Anyway, she’s a dancer,” Irikah said at last, smiling crookedly.  “Aren’t we all supposed to be pretentious twits?”  
  
Ryel snorted out a laugh, took another gulp of coffee, then grimaced into the mug.  After a few seconds of contemplation, she held it over the sink and poured it out.  “You do have a point.”  
  
“That stuff’s expensive,” Irikah said mildly.  Ryel grimaced again.  
  
“What isn’t, on this planet?”  She rubbed her forehead.  “You know, three of the last five calls I got were burglaries.  One of those turned into an attempted murder.  Another was a black-market business deal gone wrong. You wouldn’t believe the extortion that goes on over such simple things. It’s supply and demand run fucking amok.”  She shook her head.  “And now the slavers are threatening to get their noses in.  When your natural wealth is all under water, and so the easiest things to grab are the people….”  
  
As the dark turn in topics, Irikah flinched. She thought inevitably of Thane, and the targets — Kazak included — he’d been sent after.  “Has the Primacy responded to any of that yet publicly?  It seems that they must.”  
  
“Really, you’d have better leads than me.”  Ryel gave her half a smile.  “Performing at any interesting diplomatic functions anytime soon?  Want to be my informant?  Pretty please.”  
  
Irikah spread her hands.  “You know how it works.  Terms of my contract.  Sworn to secrecy.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah.  My sister the hopeless tease.”  Ryel bent forward, gave her a swift kiss on the forehead, and then went for the door.  “Be sure Grandfather gets his medications before you leave, would you?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“And try to devote some reminiscing time to more worthy partners,” Ryel tossed over her shoulder, “before you stumble into Kiv’s arms again out of nostalgia?”  
  
“I am not going to stumble into—” Irikah began, but the door had closed, and Ryel was already gone.  
  
Irikah took a deep breath and leaned back against the counter.  
  
She’d escaped that one, barely.  It wasn’t often she could divert Ryel that successfully. Still, the conversation had made entirely too many thoughts run loose around her head. Ryel’s cases, Thane’s targets, the reception the Primacy had planned for Kazak Tyva — no matter how many dark hints Thane had dropped about what, exactly, that particular businessman had his fingers in.  It wasn’t anything as severe as slavery — not yet, anyway — although it certainly wasn’t anything good.  
  
And it was a rehearsal for his reception, in fact, that she was due to attend this afternoon.  
  
 _Ry’s head would explode,_ she thought, _if she knew your troupe was meant to dance for_ him.  
  
She glared into the middle distance a while, then shut her eyes. Dancing behind her eyelids was an image of that searing-bright laser dot on Kazak’s forehead.  Her fingers touched her own skin, right where the light had landed on hers.  
  
Then she pushed herself to her feet and went to see to her grandfather, before she could slide into another memory too intense to handle.  
  
 _I will watch out for you_ , Thane had said, just days before, and in last night’s all-too-potent dream. She could only hope right now that under the circumstances, it was actually going to help.


	4. Honeymoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thane and Irikah after their wedding. (Did I mention these were written out of sequence? Yea, verily....)

Even as it was just beginning, Thane knew this would be a memory he’d return to for the rest of his life.  
  
Before he’d come, he’d thought he would have done this differently, given the chance.  The wedding traditions they’d followed also spoke of the private hours afterward, in desert refuges where the couple’s secret vows could be consummated beneath the stars.  Here, both stars and desert were difficult to come by.  Thane, however, had arranged the best getaway he could: a room in the Northsea Towers, high enough to be above the worst of the fog.  In the late evening, during a break in the clouds, sunset glowed through the wide picture window.  The sea beneath them glittered, and the windows of every building around the curving coastline shone like miniature suns.  
  
Irikah stood before it, hands outstretched on the rail, her back to the view.  
  
Her skin shone in the light, gold-tinged green and amber; the gauzy nightdress she wore went nearly translucent in the light, revealing more than it concealed of her body.  And she seemed to have no interest in the landscape behind her.  She just drank in the light and warmth, and then the sight of him, as Thane got slowly hard again from the simple fact of her watching him.  
  
Irikah’s slow-blossoming smile was more radiant than the sunlight haloing her.  
  
“Siha,” he said softly, stretching out on the elevated sleeping pallet.  “You look—”  
  
“Not much need to say it.”  Humor colored her voice, as her eyes flicked toward the evidence.  
  
“Regardless… you’re still beautiful.”    
  
She made a pleased, almost shyly quiet sound — something that always surprised him, as confident as she was in most things.  But then she looked down at herself in the gown he’d bought for her, and smoothed the fabric down over the curve of her hips.  Thane made his own sound then, one of appreciation as naked as he was.  
  
“Dance for me,” he murmured.  
  
Irikah lifted her gaze, if not her head, resulting in a hooded sort of look that made him flush with warmth.  “You said you would,” he reminded her.  “Our exchange of gifts…?”  
  
“Yes. I did.”  She smiled strangely.  “I’ll need music.”  
  
Thane briefly considered his position — sprawled comfortably on the soft, imported cotton sheets (no seafrond-weave at a place like this), with the entertainment-system control buried under the other bedding that they’d… disrupted, quite thoroughly, upon arrival.  And getting up seemed so mundane.  Thane went for the alternative.  The music system was a touch-screen interface, far beyond his grasp from here, but those screens simply depended on electric current and enough force to constitute contact — something Faryn, over weeks of biotics training years ago, had insisted he learn how to manipulate remotely.  
  
He extended one hand.  With an carefully focused thought, he sent out a small charge — a flash of energy, and a sharp, forceful push through the air.  It was just enough to trip the power.  The percussion-driven sound of Caidon Nine filled the room; Irikah quirked her brow at him, then shook her head and laughed.  
  
“Showoff.”  
  
He waved that hand toward her in lazy encouragement.  “Exactly.  Now… your turn.”  
  
That arch look lingered on her face, as if she meant to make an issue of it, or simply make him wait.  Then she moved.  Even while she continued to stare, she took a step closer; her foot landed in time with the downbeat. The next step came with equally deliberate rhythm.  Her hands lifted; her eyes darkened. When she spun closer on the next surge of the music, moving faster and staring even more intently, the mood in the entire room began to shift.  
  
Thane propped himself up to watch her.  Instinct and adrenaline were rising in his blood.  She always moved with such grace, such apparently careless ease, and yet in this song — this moment — she’d acquired an intensity that felt intimately familiar. She was moving, just now, almost like he did. He imagined a weapon in her hand with that sweep of her arms, knowing right down to his core how lethal it would be. From the look in her eyes, she knew it, too.  
  
Thane, stirred even further into arousal, sat up further and shifted his weight, tensed to rise from the bed.  
  
He could feel the bass range of the music thrumming up through the floor, along with Irikah’s rhythmic footsteps.  He hummed low in his throat.  Irikah kept moving.  The gown flared out around her; she rolled her shoulders in a move he realized was  meant to make the fabric buckle.  The delicate patterns that marked her skin came clearer as the gown slid away.  Thane imagined his hands on her, remembered the feel of her skin beneath his fingers and lips and tongue.  His hum of appreciation grew louder.  Irikah paused mid-move, holding herself with exquisite poise; her eyes flashed as if she’d heard every tone.  
  
Her own voice countered his, raw and warm and rich.    
  
The music kept rising.  So did he, coming to his feet and making his way, slow and stealthy, down the three steps to the main floor. His eyes were full of her: the lithe muscles in play, the arc of her body, the way her hands were sliding down her own torso now and drawing his focus to the soft, reddened skin between her thighs.  Thane saw, too, how she darted glances at his own body between moves.  She was as tempted by him, he knew, as he was by her.  
  
He stepped in beside her, unable to wait any longer. And when they began to move together, the dance became something new once again.  
  
They touched, first at a distance, only brushing fingertips and then stepping aside.  Then slowly, gradually, they came closer. The music shifted into a different key.  Its primal beat intensified; Thane’s blood pounded in rhythm.  He could hear every one of her breaths, feel the friction of her body as she slid against him in one long, teasing kiss of pressure.  The sound in his throat became a moan.  Became her name.  
  
It was that alone that finally made her steps falter.  He stopped, too, so close to her now, and stared, waiting for her next move.  In this dance, no matter how difficult it was to hold himself back, it was her right.  
  
Just as he’d hoped, she took the opportunity by both hands.  
  
She did exactly the same with him.  
  
Thane went eagerly into her arms, kissing her fiercely.  He knew in that moment that the words he would have said under a different sky didn’t matter. She knew, and he knew, and their bodies sang with it — and he loved her so much he almost couldn’t contain it.    
  
_I am yours until the stars all fall and sands become the sea….._  
  
The sky blazed brighter around them, the whole room filling with the red-gold light of the sun.  It was the same familiar light that so often glowed in her eyes.  And he knew as they twined and twisted their way back to the bed that he’d think of her forever like this: vivid and fierce and radiant, and for this moment, utterly his.


	5. On the Blue Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soon after their first meeting during the interrupted assassination attempt, Thane finds Irikah en route to rehearsal....

The Aquarail’s Blue Line connected five different islands, sweeping from Iharis in the north to Sidura Crescent in the southeast, and crossing, as all the lines did, through the capital city on Isavar. It was the busiest commuter line on the planet. For its everyday riders, this could make it challenging to find a private spot, or anything resembling personal space.  
  
So when Irikah found herself in a suddenly vacated seat, with only a single figure sitting opposite her, she turned her gaze from the seascape that surrounded them and blinked sharply to focus.  She’d recognized the man in an instant.  
  
“Thane,” she said quietly.  
  
The assassin simply watched her.  She did the same to him, nerves prickling at the strangeness of it.  In one sense he looked unremarkable: just a man in a plain black tunic and trousers, nothing flashy about accents or attitude, his pose seemingly casual. Yet she could sense how easily he could shift into motion.  She was a dancer herself; she knew how it worked.  There was something of that sensibility about him, but with a sharper, more dangerous edge.  
  
And his eyes, in this sea-filtered light, were unreadable.  
  
She slowly lifted one hand to remove the ridge-clips of her headphones.  Thane waited her out.  “I’d hoped for a chance to speak with you,” he said, once the music she’d been listening to ran silent.  
  
“You followed me,” she replied.  
  
“Not exactly.  I saw you’d been heading for the Blue Line before, in the station.  I merely took the same train.”  
  
“So you’re just… going out for a ride?”  
  
Irikah’s blood had quickened, but she tried to keep her voice level.  It was so easy for drell to give emotion away with sound, and she wasn’t about to let him know how rattled she felt.    
  
As if Thane knew that was her intent, though, he smiled faintly.  “Something like.  I hear there’s an excellent Rakhanian restaurant on Isavar.”  
  
She gave him a skeptical look.  There was one, in fact, but she wouldn’t be able to afford it in a million years.  At that, she gave his clothes a sharper examination. They were silk, imported and expertly tailored. The assassins were indeed well compensated for their work.  
  
She countered with the best she could in that moment, which was knowledge.  
  
“I thought you were _based_ on Isavar,” she said.  “Seems strange you’d need an excuse to go there.”  
  
“Possibly.  You checked?”  
  
“You weren’t the only one paying attention.”  
  
“I’d hoped not.”  
  
She glared, just a little. He sounded too familiar for her preference, and so she decided to cut through the banter.  “Just _please_ tell me what your intentions are, because having an—”  She paused, realizing they were still surrounded by a crowd, and advertising his vocation possibly wasn’t the wisest choice.  “Having someone tailing me like this is enough to make a girl apprehensive.”  
  
Thane lowered his gaze, that small smile turning self-deprecating.  “I apologize.  It’s not often I have someone to watch out for who isn’t a target. I may be overstepping myself.”  
  
“Why watch me at all?”  
  
Something shifted in his expression again. When he replied, his voice was low and quiet.  “You halted my work; the target still lives.  Whether it was just or not, such things can have repercussions.”  
  
“You mean trouble for you?”  
  
He didn’t disagree, which would have been oddly satisfying if not for what he said next.  “I want to ensure it doesn’t cause trouble for you, either.”  
  
Irikah frowned.  Thane was still watching her very intently.  
  
“I was told very little about Kazak Tyva, except how to locate him.  When I’m carrying out such orders, most personal detail is irrelevant.  Sometimes I get behavioral notes.  More often it’s just my own observations.  But after—”  
  
“I stopped you.”  
  
“—I read his files.”  Thane peered at her.  “I don’t expect him to be a personal threat to you….”  
  
Irikah made a brief, involuntary flinch.  Thane’s questioning look prompted her to add, “He’s been in touch, actually.  Said he wanted to express his gratitude.”  
  
“Did you reply?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“That’s fortunate.”  Thane braced one hand on his knee, and spread the other, palm up.  “He’s liable to become paranoid.  He has the financial resources to acquire substantial personal security, and that means a more complicated follow-up operation.  If he manages to involve you again, I can’t guarantee your safety.”  
  
Irikah leaned forward.  “You mean to tell me,” she said sharply, “that after all this, you’re still going to kill him?”  
  
Thane went quiet. Irikah closed her eyes a moment, realizing she’d spoken too loudly. Their fellow passengers, though, seemed to remain oblivious; when she squinted at them again, none of them were paying her any mind. They were all too wrapped up in their own conversations and distractions to hear.  
  
Another near miss.  
  
She let out a breath, shook her head, and looked out the window.    
  
“I have my task,” Thane said softly, while she stared into the distance.  They were passing the Rishka Ridge; beyond it, dimmed by the depth of the waters, a small team of hanar were working on an extension to the Green Line tunnels.  The placidity of the scene felt surreal in comparison to this.  “I tried to state my case after you intervened, but… I was reminded of my duty.  It’s not my position to ask why this task was given to me.  It is up to me to complete it.”  
  
She rubbed one hand over her face.  Something about the phrasing bothered her.  “Your _task_.  Matters of life and death like this… and to you it’s just a _job_?”  
  
“No.”    
  
He’d spoken sharply enough that she turned to him again.   
  
“It’s never that simple.  If this must be done, it must be done well, and now I have to mend this before anyone else is harmed.  I always carry that responsibility — I have to spare innocents from my actions. The more people are involved, the harder it becomes.  If you’d stayed clear….”  
  
“You almost sound angry at me,” she murmured.  
  
She wasn’t sure what she was expecting.  It certainly wasn’t for him to tell her this:  
  
“No,” he said.  “I admire you.”  
  
This time, she had nothing to say.  
  
“You knew even less about the situation than I did. You had no protection, no training, no reason to intervene.  But when you saw someone in danger, you stepped in without hesitation.  You looked death in the eye and didn’t flinch.”    
  
Irikah felt like she was still doing the same.  The tunnel had gone up a slight incline; enough light penetrated the water now to bring out a green glint in his eyes.  She couldn’t turn away.  
  
“You made that choice with the whole of your soul,” he said softly, “and what I could see in your eyes is still haunting me.”  
  
Irikah trembled at the resonance to his voice.  Her nerves felt too raw to even know how to respond, or how to feel, or what to do with the memories of him flickering across her mind even now — _the image of him on his knees in that eerie, echoing corridor…._   
  
So she said nothing, only held his gaze, not letting him go.  
  
It lasted until the pleasant electronic voice of the announcer called out the next stop.  
  
Irikah involuntarily looked up. The other passengers had begun to jostle and edge for the doors.  A message scrolled across the display board, silently echoing the announcer: _Next stop: Capitol Station._   
  
Irikah got to her feet.  Thane didn’t move to stop her. In fact, when she finally did reply, the words surprised him so strongly that all he could do was stare.  
  
“‘May those who heed Arashu’s words stand ever steadfast, to guard against the darkness and protect those who need strength,’” she said. “I made _that_ decision with the whole of my soul long ago.  And perhaps you ought to consider those words yourself.”  
  
Even as he whispered something that she couldn’t quite hear, Irikah shouldered her way through the crowd and out the doors, and up to the stairs that led to street level.  She had to stop for breath before ascending.  Her head was ringing, and her pulse, she  realized, was racing beneath her skin.  
  
 _I beg of you,_ his memory echoed, _grant me forgiveness…._  
  
“Maybe someday,” she whispered, still picturing his wide, unfathomable eyes, the pain and awe in them, the terrible hope.  “But not yet.”  
  
And before he could find her to follow again, she slipped away.


	6. Backstage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irikah and Thane have a brief interlude before what's going to be a fateful performance indeed.

Irikah was alone in the room when he stepped in — alone, half-dressed, and unguarded, and all too aware of his presence within seconds.  
  
Convention still called this the green room, but the name was completely inadequate.  The theater it was part of, grand even in its backstage details, had provided a high-ceilinged, tall-windowed room that looked out into the surrounding seas.  Here in the shallow waters just past the coastline, coral grew and brightly-colored fish darted past, attracted by the lights the architects had studded into the sand.  Everything glowed softly, all blues and greens against the gold and ivory of the room within.  
  
Irikah pressed one hand to the cool glass, seeing his faint reflection in its surface.  Even from where she stood, she could sense the heat of him.  
  
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said.   
  
He replied nonetheless.    
  
“I didn’t have an invitation.  But there was someone I had to see.”  
  
“You mean someone you had to kill?”  
  
His reflection twitched subtly.  Or perhaps it was only the waves.  Irikah shook her head.  
  
“Thane,” she said, and then she turned.  
  
He wasn’t armed, at least as far as she could see, though she had to admit that meant little.  He was dressed in black as usual; the cut was modest, except for a narrow arrow-point of green exposed from the open collar, and she could tell the clothes left him plenty of room to move.  For now, though, he was still, watching her closely.  
  
She supposed he had reason, considering she was bare to the waist and only lightly draped below with the thin, nearly floor-length skirt that was part of her costume.  It was slit to allow her to move with ease as well, and it flared out subtly when she gave him a mock curtsy.  
  
He answered it with a much-more-formal bow.  
  
“I came on orders, for one of the guests,” he admitted.  Irikah’s mouth tightened, knowing exactly what “orders” inferred.  “But I’m here….”  
  
He trailed off.  Irikah had stepped forward.  Thane met her eyes, still obviously struck at what he found there.  
  
“I’m here for you,” he said.  
  
Irikah stopped beside the small table between them, the one where her hanar hosts and employers had left refreshments for the dancers.  Two flutes of imported sunwine still stood there.  “I suppose you locked the door?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I’m expected at the reception in twenty minutes….”  
  
“It might be best not to go.”  
  
She shot a look at him.  Her fingers had landed on the rim of one of the flutes, and she hoped she didn’t snap it in a flash of temper.  “Why?  For my safety?  Or so I won’t interfere with your _orders?_   Thane, I have a job and a duty here every bit as much as you.”  
  
“And,” he said more softly, “something that you honestly love.”  
  
She paused, suddenly unsure where this conversation was heading.  
  
“I’ve watched you dance.  You look so… transported.  That kind of flow, that grace… that _passion_.  You may do what you do thanks to the Compact, as do I, but you’ve truly made it your own.  Maybe it was there all along.”  
  
Her fingers moved on the wineglass.  He wasn’t wrong, which made it dificult to reply.  Lately, in the midst of all this strangeness, her work was the only place she felt truly at home, fully herself.  The idea of someone else understanding that part of her, and perhaps wanting to share in it in whatever way he could — it was as tempting as it was unsettling.  
  
Her fingertips released a shivering note from the glass, just as Thane finished his thought. “You make me wish… that I were more than I am.”  
  
Irikah closed her eyes.  There was such longing underlying his voice, and she wasn’t sure what to do with it.   
  
“I can’t give that to you,” she whispered.  “You have to find that on your own.”  
  
There was a moment of quiet.  Then she heard the other glass scrape lightly across the table before being lifted.  She finally raised her head, seeing Thane tilt it slightly towards her as if in a toast.  
  
“I know,” he said softly.  “And yet.  Call it inspiration.”  
  
Her lips curved, almost into a smile. Inspiration.  She supposed she could live with that.  
  
He took a sip of the wine.  Irikah decided that under the circumstances, she’d feel better if she did the same.  She lifted her glass, taking a sip, and was immediately struck by the wild, bright taste of it, something that was clearly worlds away from this place.  She could almost believe it really was sunlight, finely distilled.  
  
Strange thing to be tasting here, she thought, standing as they were underneath the waves.  
  
Irikah lowered the glass, watching Thane all the while.  She was starting to feel more conscious than usual of how little she was wearing.  “I should finish getting dressed,” she said, gesturing with her dress towards the changing screens.  The mirrors beside stood conspicuously empty.  Normally she wouldn’t be alone in here like this; the others would be with her, bustling around, joking, arguing.  She wondered what kind of diversion Thane had staged to draw them so subtly away.  
  
In light of that, perhaps it wasn’t surprising that he took her hand, guiding her away from the screens and towards the windows instead.   
  
“You said you had a few minutes,” he said gently.  “Twenty, in fact.”  
  
“Nineteen by now.”  Her nerves were prickling with anticipation and the wine. She was still holding onto her glass.  “Maybe even fifteen….”  
  
“In my world, there’s never much time.  It’s all a matter of moments.  Split-second decisions.  Fifteen minutes…”  He smiled suddenly.  “That’s a lifetime.”  
  
Irikah almost replied, but the look in his eyes stopped her.  There was something so damned compelling about him.  She swore under her breath, and then she laughed, half at herself and half at the impossibility of the whole situation.  
  
It was mid-laugh when Thane bent forward and caught her in a kiss.  
  
Thane’s lips were warm on his, his touch even hotter.  He backed her against the glass, with her hardly noticing at all until she realized she was pressed in between: cool water behind, implacable, barely-banked fire before. She made a small, involuntary sound, feeling his own voice answering hers — and the sheer erotic tension of it made her press into the kiss with doubled enthusiasm.   
  
And in the moment she truly reached for him, she dropped her wine glass.  It shattered on the floor in a bright, fragile explosion.  
  
She suspected she knew how it felt.  
  
“Iri,” he breathed — the first time he’d called her that.  “Gods—”  
  
His hand slipped.  She hadn’t realized he was still holding his glass, too, but he must have also lost his grip, because suddenly there was a splash of wine upon her shoulder.  He breathed in sharply, setting aside the glass somewhere — _his_ didn’t break — while the wine slid down her skin.  
  
Then his finger reached out to catch the drop, and he bent to kiss the taste of it from her shoulder.  
  
Irikah leaned back, eyes shut, gasping at the feel of it all.  Her whole body warmed; her pulse picked up, blood pounding in deep places.  Everywhere he touched her fairly burned.  From the look of him, too, the intensity of his kisses and the almost subservient bend of his head, she could tell this was affecting him every bit as much.  
  
She ran her fingers back along his scalp, humming with her own pleasure and feeling, for the first time in this relationship, a strange sort of power.  
  
“We mustn’t,” she breathed, but for the first time she _wanted_ to, wanted to touch him until he responded in the most intimate ways possible, wanted to feel him inside her.  She wanted to break every bit of his control.  But they only had so much time, and she suspected _everyone_ would know if this went too far.  She couldn’t hide that much in the way she moved.  She’d have a hard enough time masking this glow.  She felt she like had fire suffusing her, coiling in her core and threatening to melt her from within.  
  
Thane lifted his gaze to hers, kissing her once more before slowly withdrawing — but not very far, just a hand’s breadth, enough that she could still feel him breathing.  
  
“Perhaps not yet,” he whispered.  She almost wished he hadn’t agreed.  “But….”  
  
He let that hang there in suggestive silence.  Irikah touched his lips, as if she could feel out the words there.  
  
“You do your job,” she said, feeling the subtle gasp he drew upon her touch.  “I’ll do mine.  Afterwards, if you can… come find me.”  
  
He nodded.  Slowly, after his own lingering touch alongside her cheek, he stepped back further.  Although her body cried out for her not to, Irikah walked past him on trembling legs to find the rest of the costume — a gauzy top and scarf that she cast on as deftly as she could.  When she caught her own reflection in the mirror, she barely recognized what she saw.  The strange light in her eyes, her quick breathing, the deep color at her throat that the scarf barely concealed….  
  
She tugged it down further, trying to take a moment and recenter herself.  Then she turned.  
  
The room behind her was empty.  
  
Somehow, in those few heartbeats, Thane had slipped away without a sound.  The door when she tested it was still locked.  She toggled it open, watching the light flash back to green, and silently wondered.  There was no sign he’d gone, no sign he’d ever even been here —  
  
Well.  None except for her tingling nerves, the proof of her own memory, and the two empty wine glasses, one of which still lay in fragments on the carpet.  
  
Irikah went to it, picking up one of the bigger shards.  She turned it, catching the light, and a tiny cut opened on her finger; she dropped the glass and put her finger to her lips instead, tasting sun-bright wine and blood and the lingering hint of Thane’s kiss.   
  
 _We mustn’t,_ she thought again.  But she knew, as absolutely as she’d ever known anything, that they would.  
  
“Irikah!” she heard from behind her, sharp and sudden.  She rose to see Sya at the door, already costumed and looking impatient.  “We’re almost up.  Leave that; we can fix it later.  Come on.”  
  
Feeling certain that _someone_ was going to trip and hurt themselves on the shards, Irikah nevertheless turned and left the room, her head buzzing, and with Sya, sure enough, scrutinizing her as if something was just a little bit strange.  Irikah pushed it all aside.  With the memory of that kiss lingering, and tension still pricking at her about whatever was about to come, Irikah strode off to take the stage — and to dance with much passion as she ever had in her life.  
  
Wherever he was now, she hoped Thane would be watching.


	7. After Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted during the same theme week that engendered Backstage -- and therefore yes, it's (more than) a bit intimate too. ;) A scene from after Thane and Irikah's marriage.

It wasn’t often Irikah could catch Thane unawares.  
  
Moments like this — when she’d returned later than him for once, and found him stretched out in their bed, already asleep — were therefore worth lingering over, fixing to her memory in every detail.  So she stood there in their darkened room and studied the whole of the scene.  The faint illumination of the city lights outside their window etched out his silhouette, and made her especially notice the shift of his well-defined muscles as he turned slightly in his sleep.  He’d worn nothing to bed, as usual, and only the sheets clutched at his waist hid anything at all.  Something warmed deep in her core at the sight of him like this — vulnerable and yet intensely _not_ all at the same time.  
  
She stepped forward, barefooted and nearly silent, to sit on the edge of the thin mattress.  
  
“Thane,” she whispered.  She’d learned to wake him gently, to make it obvious it was her.  His fighter’s instinct could often stir before he did otherwise.  “I’m back…”  
  
His head turned again.  Irikah reached out and laid one hand upon his chest.  She bent closer, whispering his name again.  
  
That worked.  His body tensed to alertness in an instant, his hand grasping her wrist and his eyes opening.  Irikah held herself very still as he stared straight up at her.  Then, breath by breath, things changed.  His clasping fingers loosened and moved in a caress across her skin, and his lids lowered a little, his lips curved.  “Irikah,” he murmured.  
  
The warmth within built even higher.  
  
“Couldn’t wait up for me?” she teased, not willing to show everything just yet. Their fingers were playing between each other now, however, his thumb making intimate little circles across her palm.  She couldn’t resist a sigh.  
  
“Dreaming of you seemed a better way to pass the time,” he said drowsily.  
  
Her brow arched. “How convincing.”  
  
“Mmh.  You should hear what those dreams were about.”  
  
Her head tilted.  A seductive little tilt had crept into his smile.  “Really,” she said, moistening her own lips even as she studied his. 

“Really. They were quite…inspirational.”

“You may have my attention, then,” she said, “but it seems there’s better ways to share than just _telling_ me….”  
  
Thane breathed in deep, then reached for her.  “Agreed,” he said hoarsely, drawing her down for a slow, deep kiss.  
  
Irikah made a pleased little sound.  His hands were so warm on her, and his movements still comfortably languorous with sleep. Between touches she pulled her clothes up over her head and cast them aside, so that when he tugged her beneath the sheets with him, they met body to body, skin to skin.  Irikah sighed into his mouth; he met her tongue with his, softly tasting her while they arched against each other.  He was waking all over, now, and she reached one hand down to feel him stir.  
  
“Mmh,” he murmured again.  “Eager.”  
  
“Long night,” she replied.  She kissed him again, catching his lower lip between hers, then made her way to the sensitive skin of his neck.  “This… is better.”  
  
He made a low, deep sound, one she could feel as much as hear.  His pulse beat harder beneath her fingers.  
  
“Yes,” he said, trembling underneath a teasing sweep of her thumb.  She’d caught a particularly sensitive spot, and knew it. His own hands were finding her sensitive places, too — touching the small of her back and around her hips, and moving ever closer to where the heat pulsed hottest.  
  
“Irikah,” he murmured, his voice going rough with arousal — yet still pitched almost as a question.  She blinked at him.  “Turn around.”  
  
Irikah let go with some reluctance.  The look on his face, though — warm and sensual and promising pleasure — made her agree.  She did, feeling him curl around her from behind and stroke his free hand soothingly up and down her body.   She hummed low, meaning it as encouragement.  He took it.  Her stomach muscles trembled with anticipation when he traced down below her navel; she felt a kiss pressed to the back of her neck then, and a gentle murmur of, “Easy.”  
  
His fingers slowly slipped between her legs, and she moaned, rocking back against him.  Between the pressure behind and the pressure before, she was already awash in warmth.  He hummed in satisfaction, too, and kept on touching her. Slowly, while she shifted restlessly against him, Thane adjusted their respective angles and kissed further down her spine, murmuring assurances, words of affection, heated fragments of promises that made her toes curl.  
  
“Thane, please,” she breathed at last, her thoughts going hazy with want.  
  
“Please what?”  
  
She closed her eyes.  “Inside.”  
  
He took a shuddering breath.  Then he kissed her again, moved once more and slid into her, and she felt every last inch so keenly that she couldn’t do anything but gasp.  
  
He was moving carefully, but she could still sense the power behind it, all that barely-withheld strength as he pulled back and thrust again.  His arm tightened around her as he held her close. She braced herself as best she could and moved with him, encouraging the rhythm that was building between them — until the heat began to overtake him, and he simply couldn’t maintain control anymore.  Irikah couldn’t get the words out now, but she told him in every way she could — every move and hitch of breath and determined little sound — to let himself go.  Finally, with a groan that made her tremble all over, he did.  His hips shuddered hard against her, and she felt him cry a wordless plea.  
  
Then, slowly, so slowly, he went still.  A few moments later, he cautiously withdrew from her. It took him a minute to collect himself; when he did, he helped turn Irikah around again and press close for a deeply intimate kiss.  
  
After all that, she felt like she needed it.  She was still shaking, still aching with unfulfilled tension.  He could clearly feel it in her.  “Irikah,” he said at last.  “Lie back.”  
  
“Thane—”  
  
He silenced her with a finger to her lips.  “Let me,” he whispered.  The look in his eyes was still so intense that she nodded, and did exactly as he said.  His hand slid over to cup her cheek.   
  
Then it slid lower.  And lower still.  
  
“Thane,” she said again, her voice unsteady, but he only moved his way down the length of her body.  She was wet and aching and oversensitive when he touched her again, and she jumped a little at the press of his fingers — but he kept going, with even more careful strokes within and without than he had the first time.  And then, urging her thighs apart for better access, he bent his mouth to her.  Heedless of their mingled tastes, he slid his tongue across her swollen skin, then deeper into her.  She clutched the sheets; her head tilted back on a helpless moan as he kept working her even higher.  It felt so good, and yet she wasn’t sure how much more she could take.  
  
But then he whispered to her against her skin, low and intimate and filthy and beautiful… and it was more than enough.  
  
She came completely undone.  Her tension broke in a convulsive shudder, and then rippled onward into softer, more sensuous waves as Thane kept urging her through the orgasm.  She could barely control the sounds she was making, but she felt so perfectly overwhelmed that she didn’t even try.  Eventually, though, she calmed.  When everything faded, she slumped back against the pillows and let all of her muscles relax.  Lassitude crept over her.  Eventually, almost embarrassingly, she felt herself yawn.  
  
At that, she heard Thane chuckle.  
  
“Long day, you said?” he said.  He moved back up on the bed until he was lying beside her, propped up on one elbow.  She opened her eyes again and saw him smiling down at her.  
  
“Long day,” she sleepily agreed.  She reached out to touch his chest again, tracing the lines of colored stripes and the shapes of his muscles beneath.  Eventually, she let her fingers curl back in against her palm and hugged them to her own chest, going still again.  “Good ending.”  
  
Thane bent closer for one more kiss.  She gave it gladly, before adjusting herself a little and reaching for the crumpled sheets.  Thane helped arrange those over them both.  Then they settled in, gently touching but saying nothing for a long time until she eventually yawned again, and found her eyes fluttering closed.  
  
Into the darkness, Thane spoke one more time.  
  
“Promise me you’ll dream of me this time,” he said, just a tiny bit teasingly.   
  
Thinking of what he’d said when she arrived, Irikah smiled.  She didn’t have the energy to reply, but he reached out to touch her hand — and again, she answered in the best way she could.  She squeezed his hand when he clasped hers, meaning every bit of it.  _Of course,_ that touch said.  _Always_.   
  
And on that thought, she finally fell asleep.


	8. An Afternoon on Isavar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early in the relationship, Thane and Irikah trade stories about families and faiths during a chance meeting at market.

The second time Thane encountered Irikah purely by accident, it was at a quiet, otherwise empty market stall on Isavar.  
  
Kahje’s only major un-domed city — home of its spaceport, so air access was crucial — compensated for the lack by putting a roof over everything else, even several of its major transit thoroughfares. The public market was in a rambling building, much expanded upon over the years, with the result that its roof frequently leaked. Shoppers tended to dress for rain. Thane himself hadn’t bothered with a hood, since he preferred to keep his peripheral vision clear; it afforded him a good view of the crowd, the cluttered passageways and the stalls selling everything from foods to crafts and clothing. Above their heads hung antique lanterns, tinting the whole scene a warm, reassuring gold. It was a deliberate attempt to evoke the atmosphere of old markets on Rakhana. It almost worked, too, except for the water buckets and the overabundance of seafood.  
  
Thane maneuvered around one of those pails and then found the stall he had in mind: a less-visited one these days, hidden down a quieter corridor, but one he remembered from long ago.  
  
The semi-enclosed space held a collection of incense and delicately formed burners. The ones out front were merely meant to smell pleasing, and were the sort of thing that could draw in casual shoppers. The smaller collection in back, however — four or five carefully chosen scents, complementary in nature but all carrying their own significance — were for a more specific clientele.  _It’s still here_ , he thought, struck immediately by the dusty, spicy smells. _I’d wondered…._  
  
The seller called a greeting, jolting Thane from the beginnings of a very old memory indeed.  
  
“Looking for anything special?” the man asked. Thane got a look at him: older, wrinkled hands, still-keen eyes. He was sitting beside the stall’s portable dehumidifier. Most appliances were tuned to specific pitches to accommodate sensitive drell hearing, but the way this one was rattling, it was clearly in bad repair.  
  
“Maybe,” Thane said, trying not to listen to the machine.  
  
The merchant watched him with skeptical curiosity as Thane stepped further in. He’d spotted a burner standing before a stylized set of religious icons. His fingertips gently touched the base, and the memory flared back to life.  
  
 _“This is for those who came before us,” murmurs his mother — her voice soft, fire flickering at the end of a long, old-fashioned match in her hand. Smoke rises, curls into the air. Thane’s brother stares at it. Thane just watches her. “Always remember what they gave—”_  
  
“Thane,” he suddenly heard, and he turned, staring. Someone else had just approached. It was Irikah.  
  
In that moment, she looked just as surprised by his presence as he was by hers. She was dressed in a long, deep-green coat, made of a modern waterproof weave but cut in a style that reminded him of traditional patterns. The geometric symbols stitched around her hood framed her face in gold.  He opened his mouth to say her name, but the merchant beat him to it.  
  
“Irikah,” the man said warmly. “I was starting to worry.”  
  
She tore her gaze away from Thane, managed a smile, and swept forward to kiss the old man on the cheek.  “Sorry it’s been so long, Kerran. I’ve been…. occupied.”  
  
The man’s gaze flicked towards Thane. Then he told Irikah, “So your sister said. But it’s not me who needs the apologies, _faiisha_.”  
  
She ducked her head. “I know.  I’ll make up for it, I promise.”  
  
She indicated the back wall. Kerran nodded, smiled and painfully rose from his seat. As if he knew exactly what she wanted, he started selecting a small bundle of sticks.  
  
In the silence that followed, Irikah fixed her gaze on Thane again.  
  
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said, her tone almost interrogative.  
  
“I’m not sure I expected to come,” he admitted. “But… I suppose you got me thinking.”  
  
She looked like she was consulting memories. At last something clicked. “That look on your face when I mentioned Arashu, back on the train. You didn’t think I believed in the old gods, did you?”  
  
Thane considered the small, dusty, otherwise-unoccupied space.  “Most people don’t anymore.”  
  
“But you still do.”  
  
He thought about it. Over the years of his training, he’d let a lot of those old beliefs go silent. It was difficult to hold to the gentle family rituals when his daily business was so deadly, and his soul so detached. Yet some of it still lingered. “My mother did,” he said, stepping around the direct answer for now. “I still think of it, sometimes.”  
  
Irikah thought about that, too. Then she turned, for the dehumidifier had just made a distinctly atonal, grinding noise. She flinched. The merchant gave her a sheepish smile.  
  
“Sorry, _faiisha_ ,” he said, using the familiar endearment again. “The beast’s been getting temperamental in her old age.”  
  
“Is that a PAITech unit?” she asked.  
  
“I think so.”  
  
To Thane’s surprise, Irikah rounded the counter and squatted down beside the machine, decoupling  the power and then pulling off its rear panel with deft fingers. “Grandfather has a smaller one like this in his room,” she explained. “We have to keep wrestling with it. We’ve got central de-h, but he’s never happy until the air’s so dry you could set it on fire… oh, there.”  
  
While Thane looked on curiously, she made an adjustment he couldn’t entirely see. Then she set the rear panel back. When she flicked it on again, the dehumidifier rattled only once, as if to get the annoyance of being manhandled out of its system. Then it settled into an agreeable hum.  Irikah stood, brushing off her hands and looking satisfied.  
  
Kerran grinned. “What I would ever do without you girls, I’ll never know.”  
  
Thane, feeling out of place in this conversation, held himself back. While Kerran and Irikah squared away her purchase — with a heavy discount, he noted, and many shorthand mentions of Ivirras family business — Thane went back to the shelves. He quietly surveyed the incense varieties Kerran had selected for her. One was skyreed, which gave off a soft, strange, bittersweet scent. Thane frowned at it, recalling its uses.  
  
He wondered exactly whom Irikah was mourning.  
  
She said nothing to explain that particular mystery when she looked his way again. Kerran filled the silence for her. “And are you intending to make a purchase, sere?”  
  
He didn’t think about it long. He passed over the skyreed and reached instead for the narras, which he rubbed one thumb lightly over, releasing its familiar scent, before he made his decision. “A packet of these, I think,” he said, blinking away the remembered afterimages of his family.  
  
Kerran made silent note of that, then reached past him and wrapped the bundle. Thane finished the transaction with a few taps on the merchant’s datapad, then nodded to them both. “I should be going.”  
  
Again, to his surprise, Irikah stopped him.  
  
“I’m going to the chapel, actually,” she said. She nodded toward the packet in his hands. “Would you like to come along?”  
  
Kerran watched them both. The expression he turned towards Irikah read clearly as “I hope you know what you’re doing.” It might have been deserved — but Irikah, who obviously held this man in high regard, didn’t even blink.  
  
That was what made up Thane’s mind in the end.  
  
“Yes,” he said softly, and watched her smile. “I think I would.”  
  
—-  
  
Kahje’s last chapel devoted to the drell’s old gods was located on Isavar, not far from the market. One could get there easily on foot. Irikah and Thane did, with Irikah in the lead. She knew the route well, and Thane seemed perfectly content to follow, as if he trusted implicitly that she knew what she was doing.  
  
Irikah wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about that.  
  
From what she’d seen of Thane thus far, he was very controlled about his emotions — except when she caught him off-guard. Then, everything showed. In those few heartbeats after they’d glimpsed each other in the market, before he’d pulled his shields back into place, she’d seen so much — genuine surprise, keen attention, and hints of so many unsaid things.  
  
She kept catching him in moments like this. She wasn’t sure how long it would last. From what little she knew of the assassins, she figured that his masters would probably keep training and restricting and honing him until even that much was finally schooled away. And yet seeing those signs of the real person underneath…  
  
She couldn’t turn away from him. Especially when he seemed to understand things that meant so much to her.  
  
She wanted to ask him why.  
  
“I suppose I should explain a little,” Thane said, anticipating her question. “I mentioned my mother, before…”  
  
“You did.”  She looked slantwise at Thane, and the people around them. No one else was listening, but she still asked obliquely. “You’ve been away from your family, haven’t you? I understand that’s how it works.”  
  
“Been reading up on us?”  
  
“Ryel’s been informative,” she said, a bit dryly. Ryel, in fact, had mostly been lecturing her about exactly how much trouble Thane was liable to be. She decided not to mention this.  
  
His lips twisted wryly. “Well. My brother and I were raised together until I was six years old. My parents made arrangements with the hanar for both of us at an early age. I went my way… he went another.”  
  
“Doing what?”  
  
“I don’t know.” His voice was level, but Irikah could sense some regret beneath it. “That was part of the arrangement. I’ve been told they’re doing well — they all were well compensated for me taking such a position — but everything’s been kept at a distance, for their sake and for mine. I haven’t seen my family since.”  
  
She shivered, shaking her head. “I can’t even imagine….”  
  
“I suppose not,” he said quietly.  
  
For a minute neither of them said anything. They were crossing a busy pedestrian skybridge; rain poured down both sides of the glass canopy overhead. Irikah stopped at the railing and looked up at the tumultuous skies. “It’s different for me,” she confessed. “My family’s always been close, you’re right. We just… haven’t had it easy.”  
  
“Tell me,” he said gently.  
  
She rubbed her palms absently across the metal handrail. “I’m not sure where to start. But… we all used to live together. Big extended family. My grandfather, my parents, Ryel and me… and Kairi. Our little sister.”  
  
Thane frowned. “I didn’t know you had a—”  
  
“Kepral’s,” she said, interrupting him, before she could think about it in too much detail. “Extreme early onset. She got a vicious respiratory infection when she was seven years old and never fully recovered. Her system degraded quickly after that.”  
  
“Gods,” he said softly.  “I’m so sorry.”  
  
Irikah considered the packet in her hand. “The skyreed is always for her,” she said. “And for my mother. She’s been ill almost ever since.”  
  
Thane looked on in silent question, but he didn’t push her. He just waited. She collected herself as best she could and kept going.  
  
“She wanted to get away after Kairi died,” Irikah said, her voice fading down to a tired sigh.  “So she applied for a transfer and got a job with the fisheries on Sidura. The family didn’t move with her; we were all too entrenched. Ryel and I were in school and in training, and our father was well placed. He protested, in fact. He didn’t want to split the family up. But Mother kept saying it was temporary. That she’d be back. That she just had to clear her head.” Irikah gave Thane a bitter smile. “And then there was the accident. Have you ever heard of the Karekka stingray?”  
  
“Yes.”  He frowned.  “Toxin studies.”  
  
Irikah flinched.  Of all the reasons he would have known… but that was exactly the point.  “Fatal at worst. And at best, if you can call it that… it causes neurological damage.”  She rubbed her forehead.  “Memory loss.”  
  
Thane fell completely silent.  
  
Irikah could guess why.  For a race with flawless memory, there wasn’t much worse a fate. Irikah remembered every moment that her own mother had since forgotten: the slow failure of her mind, her growing terror at the loss, the feeling that her very self was draining away. Irikah’s hands tightened around the railing, as if to hold on to whatever was left.   
  
“She’s still alive,” Irikah said. “I see her sometimes, not that she knows the difference. Father spends the most time with her in the hospital. He spends…. less time with us.  I think it’s too hard for him to deal with both.”  She looked up at Thane, venturing a fragile sort of smile.  “At least Mother got what she wanted. She doesn’t have to think of Kairi anymore.”  
  
Thane took that in, quiet and still. Then he touched the little paper-wrapped bundle in her hand. Inevitably, he brushed her fingertips in the process. Perhaps that had been the real point.   
  
“You’re doing the remembering for her, aren’t you?” he said.  
  
When she met his eyes, seeing genuine sympathy there, she murmured, “I guess I am.”  
  
His hand rested warmly over hers, just for a second. Then he recalled himself and drew up again. “Should we go on, then? I didn’t mean to delay you.”  
  
Irikah took a deep breath. She settled into her own formal pose, tugged her hood better into place and nodded.  “Yes. I… let’s.”  
  
She hated that she stuttered over it, but Thane didn’t mention it. When she turned to lead him the rest of the way to the chapel, in fact, their silence was easier, more comfortable — almost companionable.  
  
She wasn’t entirely sure what to think of that, either, but she found as she approached the chapel with him that she was glad for it.  
  
“After you,” he said gently as he opened the door. She paused only briefly at the threshold to look his way.  
  
And then, with a smile, she invited him in.


	9. Birthday Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a birthday prompt: Thane's gift to Irikah during a birthday celebration.

On Irikah’s birthday that year, after the family dinner and all the comfortable but ordinary things, her friends spirited her away to go dancing.  
  
She’d heard of the club, although she’d never been there. Kahje was short on such venues, and the entrepreneurs behind this one — a newly constructed spot in the capital’s city center — claimed it could rival the best nightspots on Illium or the Citadel. Irikah doubted it was that impressive, but at least they kept the lights low enough, and the drinks potent enough, to mask any imperfections. Most importantly, the crowd was enthusiastic and the music was as infectious as she could have hoped. For a while, she slid into the free-form flow of it and let everything else go.  
  
From the reactions she got, she was the best dancer in the place by miles — but she was enjoying herself far too much to keep score.  
  
When she finally had to extricate herself from the crowd to get some air, though, she left Kiv and Ronan giggling over their drinks — cloudbursts again, going by the virulent blue shade — and gave up on even finding Aron, let alone Sia, who was probably well on her way to a cautionary tale by now.  She just called “I’ll be on the patio” to the very distracted Kiv before she retreated outside.  
  
Outside, of course, was a somewhat figurative term. The tower this club was part of was fully shielded from the rain. Still, she breathed easier out here, where the air flowed freer and the noise was somewhat muted. Somehow, she’d managed to snag the spot all for herself. She leaned on the railing, taking in the view and breathing deep.  
  
Then she saw a whisper of movement off to one side. She hadn’t noticed at first, but there was another solitary figure standing there.  
  
She guessed who it was even before she saw his face.  
  
“Do you ever,” she said with precision, “come in the front door like a normal person?”  
  
Thane moved out of the shadows just enough that she could see him smile. “That doesn’t present much of a challenge.”  
  
She supposed he expected her to ask how he’d done it, then — maintenance shafts, skycar, climbing up the building…? Instead she arched an eyebrow and said, “Actually, being ordinary and straightforward _is_ a challenge for you, isn’t it?”  
  
He caught himself up slightly, then laughed low in his throat. He didn’t deny it. “Point taken.”  
  
Irikah turned around and leaned back against the railing. Her head tipped back, letting her stretch her neck and loosen the muscles. It felt like a vulnerable position, but at that moment she didn’t care. In fact, Thane simply watched her, humming softly in approval at the view.  
  
“I should keep it simple, then,” Thane said. “I heard you were celebrating. I wanted to wish you well.”  
  
She blinked her eyes back open and glanced his way. He was giving her a good, long look. She had to admit, she wasn’t wearing much — nothing like the modest coat and dress she’d worn the last time they’d seen each other. Thane, in fact, commented on it, sounding a little distracted.  
  
“There are so many facets to you,” he said.  
  
“What do you think of this one?”  
  
He considered the cut of her skirt. He’d moved closer, and his fingers ever-so-lightly brushed her hip. “Daring.”  
  
“I still have services in the morning like a good little girl,” she said primly, despite the tingling feeling beneath her skin. His lips curved up again.  
  
“Then you’re also well-rounded.”  
  
“I try.” Her voice had gone a little breathy. He was very close now, and he was holding up the other hand. His fingers were folded in over something.  
  
“For you,” he said, and uncovered his palm. A thin gold chain spilled loose before she saw what it was attached to: a small, beautifully stylized sun. Her breath caught.  
  
“Thane,” she breathed. “Is that—”  
  
He waited while her fingertips reached out and touched the necklace, accidentally brushing the softer skin of his palm in the process.  He didn’t move, but she heard a tiny intake of breath.  Her fingers curled up and withdrew, letting her see the symbol again.  
  
Before she could say anything, he picked up the unlatched chain and reached over to clasp it around her neck.  
  
“I could do that,” she said, but the protest was only a formality. She wasn’t about to stop him now. He’d bent close enough that their cheeks almost brushed, and she could hear, and feel, the pace of his breath. Irikah felt her head tilting toward his. Thane clasped the chain, his fingertips brushing the back of her neck, and then for a moment they simply breathed, the sound humming softly in tandem. The tiny gold sun felt warm against her breastbone.  
  
Thane drew back at last to a polite distance, but his hands weren’t quite so discreet.  
  
His fingertips didn’t leave her skin when they slid around front, and so they touched the sensitive folds of her throat. It made a lower, much more ragged sound reverberate there. She felt warm all over now, even in the cool air, and the way his thumbs were softly stroking back and forth was —  
  
“Gods,” she murmured. Her blood was still pounding from the dance, and it had kicked up even higher under his touch. Some of it, too, was raw adrenaline.  He was being so gentle. So intimate.  
  
And yet some little part of her memory kept reminding her that he could kill with a neck-snap, and it would be so easy…  
  
“Thane,” she whispered. She knew the skin at her throat was flushing even darker.  “They’ll see.”  
  
He bent closer again. “And what theories will your friends have? Do they know about me?”  
  
“I might have mentioned… something…”  
  
His thumbs kept moving. Her involuntary sound of pleasure was echoed in his throat. “So how much did you tell them about my… reputation?”  
  
For a moment she was afraid he was serious, and that he’d be severely displeased if she’d revealed too much. His voice was low and intense, his gaze fixed on hers. Then she saw the tilt to his lips. “Thane, you bastard,” she said, and he broke out into a full-out smile.   
  
“My parents would be insulted,” he said lightly.  
  
“They still should have taught you better than to skulk around balconies, flirting with strange women.”  
  
“They didn’t get that far. I was very young when I left. Although I’m sure it would have eventually come up.”  
  
Her head tilted, bringing her just a little closer. Thane made another soft, low sound.  
  
“So you came all this way,” she murmured, “to give me this gift, and then….?”  
  
She let that hang suggestively. Thane looked at her. He still hadn’t let go.  
  
“Do you like it?” he asked at last. Irikah felt herself smiling.  
  
“It’s beautiful,” she said. His expression of gratitude was just as genuine. “But I still doubt it’s the only reason you came.”  
  
“Perhaps I hoped for a dance.”  
  
“Just a dance?”  
  
“Or something else,” he admitted softly.  
  
Her hands crept up to rest against his chest. She could feel the pace of his breathing again. “You haven’t kissed me since the bridge,” she said, remembering the breathless relief of seeing him there, the way he’d caught her up in his arms without a thought. “I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind.”  
  
“Oh, no.”  
  
“Well, then…?”  
  
He smiled softly, and took her prompt for what it was. When he tilted her chin upwards, Irikah closed her eyes.  
  
She also slid her hands up higher and pulled.  
  
Thane went into the kiss, his mouth warm and already easing hers open. His tongue tasted hers with a gentle caress; Irikah pressed against him tightly. The necklace was caught between them, still warmed from his touch and now the heat of their bodies. Even as fire bloomed low in her belly, even as his mouth and his voice and his wandering hands slowly undid her, she remained aware of that small point of contact.  
  
 _The sun_ , she thought as he eventually drew back — with obvious effort. _How he thinks of me._  
  
Those words were still ringing in her head when he spoke again.  
  
“Someday,” he murmured, with his hands resting at the small of her back, “we’re going to have to finish this one way or another.”  
  
She nodded, barely. Suddenly she was trembling, and she didn’t feel quite capable of saying something even as simple as _I know_. So he watched her in turn, calmly, intensely — and he drew back a little more, toward the club’s doors. One hand was extended in invitation.  
  
“For now… how about that dance?”  
  
She thought about it. Her eyes flicked past him to the tinted windows, and the silhouettes beyond it — her friends, the music, one more part of her many-faceted life. She had no idea what would happen if she brought everything together. “Are you planning on telling them who you are?”  
  
“Will they guess?”  
  
She tapped the sun on her chest. “They’ll guess something.”  
  
He smiled, as if — she wanted to poke him — he’d hoped as much. “Hmm. Say… anonymous admirer, then.”  
  
“All right,” she agreed. “For now.”  
  
She went with him, maneuvering back into the heart of the crowd. She briefly registered the surprise on Kiv’s face, the shocked approval on Ronan’s, and most of all the affection in Thane’s before the music picked up again.  
  
And finally, when Thane stepped into motion with her, the colored lights flashed over them at full glow, making her feel, for just that moment, as if she truly was shining as bright as the sun.


	10. Miscommunication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a one-word fic prompt: Thane/Irikah, miscommunication. Takes place fairly early in the relationship.

Of all the differences between them, somehow this was what surprised him most: Irikah having to ask what a hanar said to him, after he murmured his thanks to a silent, bioluminescent comment in the street.  
  
"I never had the surgery," she explained, somewhat ruefully. She gestured to her eyes with one long finger. "My family… still traditionalists."  
  
Thane went briefly wordless. He'd worked for the hanar most of his life, and so his own eye augmentation -- which helped reveal how the hanar communicated amongst themselves, with light signals instead of sound -- had always been a natural choice. He'd barely even considered that some people might refuse. Not be able to afford it, certainly. Decide they don't need it, perhaps. But stand against it….  
  
"Wouldn't it be… simpler? Don't your own employers prefer it?"  
  
"I expect they would." Her lips twitched with wry amusement. "Not that they ever _quite_ voice their resentment about it."  
  
"You still could have it done."  
  
She sighs. "I'd miss the colors," she said, and tilted her head up. Thane followed her gaze. Brightly patterned fabrics hung above them in the market corridor. One panel above his head, though, looked murky and indistinct. Red and black patterns, he suspected.  
  
"Grandfather always wanted me to see the Rakhana sky," she said. "All of the sky, in _all_ of its shades."  
  
"I suppose I understand," he murmured.  
  
"But you still haven't told me," Irikah reminded him. "What did that one say to you?"  
  
Thane grimaced. He didn't want to answer.  
  
 _Fine work,_ the hanar had signaled to him, along with a pattern that indicated an identity -- the name of Thane's last kill. _This one sends gratitude._  
  
Thane looked into Irikah's wide, uncorrupted eyes, and reluctantly said, "Nothing of consequence."  
  
He was sure she could see the lie in him. But for better or worse, she just nodded and turned aside, and she didn't ask him again.  
  
  



End file.
